


No More Pick-Me-Ups

by hereismyhappyplace



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Getting Together, M/M, Rated T for language, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13202067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereismyhappyplace/pseuds/hereismyhappyplace
Summary: “So, do you come here often?”Or Oikawa's a terrible patient (and terrible at flirting) in Hajime's opinion, but it doesn't mean he wants the idiot to transfer to another PT.





	No More Pick-Me-Ups

**Author's Note:**

> Just posting stuff from my blog. I accept prompts and write stories based off of them so feel free to send me some! ♡
> 
> [You can find me here](https://here-is-my-happy-place.tumblr.com/)

“So, do you come here often?”

It takes everything within Hajime’s power to not roll his eyes at the shitty, overused attempt to hit on him. Like, who even used that cheesy fucking pickup line anymore? Of course he came here often; he wouldn’t have a damn job if he didn’t!

Stupidity of the statement aside, the physical therapist finds himself gritting his teeth as he bends over this man’s knee, trying very hard not to knock this patient six ways from Sunday for the blatant way he was checking him out, eyes roaming over him in a way that can only be described as _leering_.

He isn’t in the mood to deal with this guy’s antics today.

Fingers twitch with a deep itch to dig harder into the torn tissues just below it, but the rational side of him knows how wrong it is to intentionally hurt a patient, even if this particular one is a flirty dickbag.

“That’s a nice outfit; I bet it would look even better in a pile on my bedroom floor.”—Prime fucking example.

Hajime feels his eye twitch, followed by the uncontrollable furrow in his brow; two things he knows this guy can see—he can tell just by that shit-smile. There was just something about this patient loving to work him up to this point, hell if he knew why, and Hajime can just feel a headache coming on from the sole thought of this man saying anymore.

With the look on his face Hajime wonders what could possess any person to continue when obviously it was a _very_ bad idea.  

“Hey,” The physical therapist takes deep breathes, trying his hardest to count to ten in his head.

“Do you have a Band-Aid? Because I think I scraped my knee falling for you.”

He tried; Hajime really fucking tried.

“With all due respect, _sir,_ ” He’s aggravated and he knows that translates clearly into his tone; the physical therapist may or may not dig his fingers a little harder than he should. “You’ve done a lot more than scrap your knee down here and if you ever would like to go back to playing volleyball again, I think it would be in your very best interest to _shut up_ and let me _fix it_.”

The room grows eerily quiet.

There’s a lot of things he’s come to learn about his patient Oikawa in the time he’s been signed on to care for him: he’s a massive flirt, winks and blows kisses at any walking body willing to pay attention to him; eats milkbread like it’s going out of date and has even walked into the facility where it specifically states _not_ to eat food in, shoving sweet bread into his cheeks with little to no care; raves about aliens, alien movies, alien conspiracies, UFO sightings like any of that bullshit actually exists; has taken to calling him _very_ often and _very_ annoyingly a childish mockery of his surname— _Iwa-chan;_ and has, since the very first time he’s hobbled in here, been a very big pain in Hajime’s ass.

So it is honestly a first when the brunet pointedly takes his advice and clams up tight.

There’s a brief moment of pure disbelief for Hajime because really, he never would have thought it was even a possibility for this guy. And so the next five or so minutes are spent _joyfully_ doing his work; really, it’s almost like Christmas for him _._

Realistically Hajime knows it won’t last. There’s no way it can with as much as this Oikawa person has to say and with as many teasings that he needs to lay out on unwilling victims—namely Hajime—to make up for whatever quota he’s established in that deranged brain of his.

So Hajime easily relishes in what little reprieve he’s getting. It’s plenty enough time for gather himself before Oikawa starts talking again.

The physical therapist goes full-heartedly into massaging the injured knee.

There’s a clock just to the side of them for the convenience of the employees to properly time out their appointments. Hajime has forced himself into a habit of checking it with five minutes intervals, a neat little trick to help remind himself to work a different area of a patient’s injury. He notices when the clock hands tick, signaling another five minute mark.

A ten minute pass with barely the sound of a breath.

It’s kind of strange because there isn’t even a hiss when Hajime has to move over into the area that hurts this guy the most, a spot that would have Oikawa whining obnoxiously on the table like any other of his visit.

The therapist’s lips press together when he notices fifteen minutes have passed and checks the clock to make double sure when they’ve gone over twenty. Hajime has to reach over and turn on the little radio next to him just because the silence is grating on his nerves (Oikawa’s been the only patient he’s never had to do that with).

Half an hour in to an hour long appointment and Hajime almost isn’t sure what to do with his hands even though he can swear up and down the practice motions were so ingrained into his body, he could manage them in his sleep.

Oikawa’s stopped verbally answering all of his questions with that teasing lit of his.

Does this hurt? Shake of the head.

Does it feel tender here? A half-hearted shrug.

Are you still feeling pain? A nod for yes.

No, “Oo~! Do you want it to hurt, Iwa-chan?” Or, “The only tenderness I feel is my heart for you.” Not even, “Only because Iwa-chan’s stingy and won’t give me his number~!”

Holy shit, did he manage to piss this guy off?

The end of their appointment time comes all too soon.

“I can definitely feel an improvement since we added in the electrotherapy. Seems like it’s been helping you feel better too, I’ve noticed you’ve stopped favoring your other let too much.” Hajime pauses, giving Oikawa the chance to interject his own two-cents. The idiot always did like to argue with him when it came to him pointing out obvious things that he liked to deny.

Oikawa picks at a loose string at the bottom of his sweater, regrading Hajime with something close to indifference. He gives a noncommittal hum to his therapist’s diagnosis.

A weird feeling tightens in Hajime’s gut. “Uh, I’d like to get you back in a little sooner, maybe see if more stimulation can help stop that tenderness. Does Wednesday work for you?”

He watches his patient pull in a lip between his teeth, shoulders lifting in a half-hearted shrug for his answer.

“Why don’t you go work it out with the secretary up front. Just remember, it would be better to come again before the end of this week.”

There’s a quick nod at a lot more awkward silence. He gets a very curt bow before this man is picking his head up and looking at him with something indescribable.

That expression, he feels, would probably take two years off Hajime’s life just to figure out.

He’s still stuck on trying to tell if he’s actually upset Oikawa.  

Hajime doesn’t get the chance to learn before he leaves though, partially because he doesn’t ask of course, but mostly because he isn’t even sure if Oikawa would answer him even if he did.

He isn’t quite sure what cord he must have struck with him, but damn did he strike it _hard._

_I’ll just apologize to him on Wednesday._ He thinks to himself as he’s flipping through the next patient’s chart he’d be seeing after lunch. _It’s the polite thing to do._

Not to mention he doesn’t think he’ll handle another awkward silence session very well.

He steps into the employee breakroom where most of his coworkers are lazing about now that they’ve closed for lunch, excluding those on lunch getting duty.

It doesn’t take but half a second for his “favorite” blonde receptionist to sidle up to him as usual.

“Oh ho! Could that grumpy look be because someone had a big fight with his boyfriend?” She grins at him full teeth, poking his cheek a few times before Hajime grips onto her finger.

He sets her hand down _gently,_ not taking his eyes off the portfolio _._ “You already know he’s not my boyfriend, Tanaka-san. He’s just my patient who thoroughly enjoys _not_ acting like one.”

“Ah-ah,” She tuts, waggling her freed finger that Hajime watches out of the corner of his eye. “Not your patient anymore, grumpy gills. You hurt lover boy’s feelings so bad that he requested a transfer.”

It takes a full minute for him to process. Hajime gapes at her when he does.

 “Wha— _a transfer?!”_

Tanaka leans back in her chair, throwing her feet up on the table and hands behind her head with a loud sigh. “Poor thing thought he got on your nerves too much and didn’t listen when I tried to tell him you’re just always that moody. He said that it would probably be better for you if he transferred to a different specialist.”

There is no explanation for the suddenly coldness that washes over him; any sane man would probably be _relieved_ by hearing those words.

Oikawa Tooru is what Hajime’s always considered one of those nightmare patients, the ones that you mostly deal with by saying a lot of choice phrases in quietly in the head and talking shit with other coworkers once they’ve left, hoping and praying that one day no one will ever have to deal with their insistent bullshit.

If Oikawa transfers…  

They’ll be no more shitty pickup lines being thrown at him with overly fake, flirty voice.

No more big brown eyes looking all over his body; no cheeky grins when the pervert tries to look down his scrubs or when Hajime inevitably catches him staring blatantly at his ass.

No more swearing that aliens did in fact exist and Hajime was just uncultured and unintelligent for not believing like him, a well-cultured, bright individual.

No watching this fool squirm and whine when he acts like he can’t do the exercise Hajime’s given him, which is easily counteracted with the simple mention of _volleyball._

No more milkbread crumbs in his workplace.

No more listening to the dumbass make kissy faces at the female population that dominated this facility.

No more insistent calls of _Iwa-chan_ this or _Iwa-chan_ that—

No more…Oikawa Tooru.

Fingernails dig deep into the soft skin of his palms and without having any real clue as to why, Hajime finds himself pushing out his chair and stepping out of the breakroom, beelining for the reception desk without a thought other than, _I hope the phone number we have on file is up to date._

He blatantly ignores Tanaka’s call of, “Fight for your love, Hajime-kun!” as he goes.

It takes one easy web search on his personal phone and he’s proud that his hand doesn’t even shake when he puts the dialing receiver of the office phone to his ear.

When the call click together, Hajime doesn’t let the other man get a word in.

“Was you father an alien? Because there’s nothing else like you on Earth.”

The call crackles for a moment, before a tiny _“…What?”_ is uttered.

Hajime feels his face burning scarlet. His hand squeezes a little harder around the phone. “Would you grab my arm so I can tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel?”

“Wait, is this…?”

“Was your Dad a baker? Because you’ve got a nice set of buns.” If his boss heard him right now, surely he’d lose his job.

“There is something wrong with my cell phone. It doesn’t have your number in it.”

“Hold on, Iwa-chan. What are you—”

Hajime gulps when he glances down at the last once he’s spotted, steeling himself with a deep breath. “Sorry, I can’t hold on… I think I’m already falling for you.”

His effort is rewarded with complete and utter silence _._

He steadies himself again with another deep breath. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, Oikawa?”

He listens to the pounding in his chest until:

“Yeah, I’ll see you on Wednesday, Iwa-chan.” And the therapist tries not to let that surge of joy get to him when he hears how _breathless_ and _awestruck_ his patient sounds on the other end.

His head immediately slams on the desk as soon as he clicks the phone back into its holder.

Tanaka doesn’t even have to full step into the room before he’s flicking her off.

\--

Let the record show that once Hajime is committed to something, he goes all out.

Which is why, before Oikawa can even step full through the doorway on this bright, Wednesday morning, Hajime’s already placing a hand on the frame, caging him in slightly.

“So,” He starts, giving Oikawa a dazzling grin, “do you come here often?”

**Author's Note:**

> didn't even write the real prompt and this turned into six pages fast  
> *finger guns*


End file.
